


For Whom the Tiny Bell Tolls

by MileyCyprus_Hill



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur is a chunky boy, Drinking, Drunk Arthur, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Thicc Arthur Morgan, lots of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MileyCyprus_Hill/pseuds/MileyCyprus_Hill
Summary: Arthur gets stuck inside the tiny church. You and Charles have to help him out.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	For Whom the Tiny Bell Tolls

It was a long and hot day in Leymone, and Arthur’s temper was already rising with the heat.

He’s tired, dog tired. He felt like he hasn’t slept in days on account of the new scams he’s been ordered to run between the Grays and the Braithwaites. Now he’s a deputy? Shit.

He’s busy enough taking Dutch’s orders.

After stealing moonshine from the Braithwaites, shooting up Lemoyne Raiders for it, then dealing with them again at the Rhodes saloon, Arthur was finished. After the “advertising” bit Hosea came up with in Rhodes, he decided to sneak a pour of moonshine in a jar for himself. As a reward.

He wasn’t ready to go back to camp just yet and be sent off on another wild goose chase. He had enough of that with the two Shakespearean teenagers: Beau and Penelope. Running letters for them like he was some royal messenger.

So Arthur decided to sneak off with his horse and ride out. It didn’t take long for him to get turned around and end up in Bayou Nwa. That moonshine was some strong stuff, but it sure made him feel better. He finally felt relaxed and forgot about all of that business Dutch kept pushing on him.

“For which I am a prisoner now,  
in Stillwater jail I lie.”

Arthur quietly sings and hums to himself as he lets the moonshine warm his blood.

“…upon a Californy miner,  
Unto us he befell.”

The words become lost to him and so he hums atop his mare. She lets out a deep shudder underneath him, calmed by the the rich timbre of his voice.  
Pretty soon, the moonshine hits him like a train and he gets proper drunk. The sweet humming of campfire tunes turns into slurred yodeling.

“I asked tha’ gal to give me some!  
Mhmmm, mhmmm!  
She says wait til the taters is done!  
Mhmmm, mhmmm!  
I couldn’t wait till the taters was done,  
Threw ‘er on the floor and knocked out some,  
Mhmmm, mhmmm ha-ha-ha haaa!”

Arthur chortles, holding the nearly empty jar of moonshine in his hand and the reins in the other.  
Feeling a familiar tingle in his bladder, he clumsily slides off his horse.

“Stay there, gurl.” Arthur coos to his trusty mare while walking off into the trees to relieve himself.

Leaning on his palm against the tree, Arthur looks to his surroundings. He somewhat recognizes the area. He had been through here before with Dutch and the sheriff when they were investigating the Braithwaites’ private distilleries. Where he is exactly, he has no idea.

But that’s a problem for future Arthur. Right now, he just wants to forget about everything. Drunk or not, he can still shoot a gun and fight if someone gives him trouble. Why, he’s a sheriff’s deputy now!

Something catches his eye nearby.

It looks small, almost like a children’s playhouse.

Arthur buttons himself back up and stumbles over to it, almost falling over his feet. 

He stops himself and sways beside the little building. The white paint on the wood siding is nearly faded. 

“Why…it’s a little church!” He wheezes. He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees as he laughs at the sight of it.

“C’mere gurl!” He calls to his horse. She walks over to him obediently.

“You seein’ this?” He points at the little steeple.

His mare perks her ears forward at him, like she’s listening but obviously not understanding him.

“What is this? Some kinda…church for children?” He chortles.

He squats down on the little porch and lets out another wheezing laugh, “It’s cute!”

He looks through the tiny windows and crawls into the front of the church. Inside, he sees the little pews all in neat rows. A golden cross sits on top a small altar. Kneeling at the front altar, he looks back to the empty pews.

Opening his arms, he shouts, “We are gathered here on this miserable day…to talk about our lord n’ savior!” Arthur chuckles, reciting the sermons of the drunken Reverend Swanson.

“We’re all drunken fools! Fools, in need of forgiveness…and the only way we can get forgiveness…” his voice cracks in his drunken stupor, “…is if we repent. Repent! My friends! Or burn in the fiery pits of Hell!”

Arthur continues laughing until he can no longer breathe. Losing his balance, he falls forward and crushes a pew. The wood splinters and cracks under his heavy weight. He nearly cracks his head from the impact, and the remaining air in his lungs is knocked out of him.

Rolling over onto his back, he giggles, “Joke’s on them. I’m already in Hell!”

The walls around him curve and turn as the room spins. He tries to focus his eyes on the center of the ceiling, but his head keeps spinning. Soon, his eyes grow heavy and he falls into a deep sleep.

His horse stands in front of the church, her ears pricked forward as she lowers her head and listens to his rumbling snores.

———————————

Sitting at camp, you’re startled to find Arthur’s horse walking back alone.

She always knew her way back to your old mare, wherever she was. Arthur and you tamed them from the same wild herd. They were nearly inseparable. One could sniff down the other like a bloodhound.

Walking to Arthur’s horse, you see all of his guns and saddlebags are still on her, so he couldn’t have been robbed. At that sight, you feared the worst: he’d been shot off his horse.

“Oh god,” you whisper. “What happened girl?” You ask while stroking her face.

You had to know what happened. Running to Dutch, you tell him what you saw and beg him to let you look for Arthur. He sends Charles out with you, as he’s the best tracker.

You hardly wait to mount up and lead Arthur’s horse by her reins to follow. Charles catches up with Taima, the pair of you heading to the last place Arthur was seen. Hosea told the pair of you he’d seen him ride up towards Bayou Nwa after their stint at the Rhodes saloon the day before.

After searching for hours, you can’t seem to pin-point where he might have gone.

“There’s too many tracks here,” Charles states calmly, “I can’t pick out which is Arthur’s…they’re all over the place.”

With a nervous breath, you sigh, “We have to keep looking.”

Charles looks up at you, nodding sympathetically at your concern.

A sudden pull nearly takes the reins out of your hand. You look over at Arthur’s horse and watch her elevate her head and nod it repeatedly in a swooping motion. Her ears are pointed forward in attention. She stamps her hooves at the ground and continues pulling at the reins.

“Whoa girl. Easy, easy.” You attempt to calm her, but she snatches her head away and violently pulls the reins from your hands. The dried leather slips from your fingers. Your own horse startles and whinnies at the commotion. Arthur’s horse quickly trots off, as if a gunshot has gone off and startled her.

“Hey! Get back here!” You call.

Charles can only watch as he looks to you in confusion. Turning to him, you huff and shrug.

“C’mon.” You kick your heels and send your horse off to follow her.

Her faded gray coat stands out among the flora of the swamp, making it easy to follow. She slows down to a stop and stamps her hooves again. Stopping your horse beside her, you dismount and notice she’s led you to what looks like a miniature church. 

“What the? Hey, Charles! Come look at this!” 

He hops off his horse and stands by you, shoulder-to-shoulder. The two of you observe the small structure with furrowed brows. Who would build a little thing like this out here? 

Charles leans and whispers in your ear, “Looks like there’s something in there.”

Leaning down, you peer into one of the windows and see a dark mass lying on the floor. A deep snore rumbles out of it. 

“What is it?” you ask in a whispered hush. 

“More like who is it.” Charles responds.

Raising your head at him, you look up with your forehead crinkled and mouth agape in bewilderment. He points back at the snoring beast. 

You sneak over to the open doors at the front of the church and peer inside. 

_Oh, Jesus Christ._

Shaking your head and stifling a laugh, you whisper over at Charles who’s still standing and looking through the dirty windows.

“It’s Arthur.”

“What?” he exclaims, stepping over to you and kneeling beside you. 

“Yes! I’d recognize that shirt anywhere.” 

He was wearing the plaid, olive button-down you bought him in Valentine after his fight in the mud. He didn’t have extra clothes with him, so he sent you to buy him a clean shirt and pants while he went to the hotel to take a bath. 

A rough snore escapes Arthur’s lips as he remains in a sleeping huddle on the floor.

The pair of you snicker at the sight of him. 

“Yep, that’s him alright.” Charles laughs softly. 

“For a second, I thought a black bear had wandered in,” you joke.

Suddenly, Arthur stirs at the sound of your voices and wakes up. He might as well be a bear right now because he is in a rough mood. 

“Who’s there?! Leave me alone!” he growls, laying on his back on the pile of broken wood. His words are still slurred from the moonshine. 

“Arthur, it’s us! (Y/N) and Charles.” you call into the church. 

Arthur rolls over with his bloodshot eyes darting open. He tries to blink away the blurry vision before him. Sitting up, his head rushes and he forgets where he’s at. 

Until he tries to stand and hits his head against the ceiling. He falls back down with a heavy thud and groans loudly in pain, breaking another pew. The wood splits like kindling. 

You and Charles wince at the sight of it, but can hardly contain your laughter. You clap your hand over your mouth and giggle into your palm. 

Arthur writhes in pain on the floor and moans, “Aaaaggh, Shuuuut uuup.” He kneels on all fours and tries to hold back the nausea. 

“How the hell’d you get in there?” you ask, trying your best to mask your amusement. 

“I dunno!” Arthur replies, the inflection in his voice rising with his own confusion.

_Boy, is he crabby._

Though, you can hardly blame him. 

Charles calmly asks him with a straight face, “How was the service, Arthur?”

Your cheeks grow red as you snicker a laugh through your nose. You nudge Charles’ shoulder. 

“Yeah…the preacher give a good sermon today?” You ask.

Now Charles lets out a snort, and the two of you can hardly take it anymore. You both rear your heads back and roar in laughter.  
If looks could kill, Arthur would be strangling the both of you right now. His eyes are narrowed in your direction and he grinds his teeth. 

“Shut. Up.” he growls.

The laughter subsides at his glare, but an occasional snort still escapes your noses as you both try to hold yourself together. 

“Sorry, Arthur,” Charles apologizes, “but you gotta admit, it’s pretty funny.” 

“Ha…ha.” Arthur mocks. He sits himself up and looks around the tiny church to see where he can let himself out. The pair of you are blocking the front doorway, and he’s in no mood to even look at you two right now. 

He eyes a small back door and crawls towards it.

Knowing exactly where this will go, you call to him, “Wait, Arthur. Don’t go that way.”

“Why not? I got in here ma’self, I can get out ma’self.” Arthur shouts. 

You give in, “Fine.” Both you and Charles are now laying on your stomachs, watching Arthur. Like naughty children spying on a grumpy old man. 

He manages to push the back door open and crawl through. However, he’s only halfway through before he gets stuck in the doorway. You hear him muttering and cursing as he struggles to crawl out. His broad torso fills the narrow frame. He attempts to pull at the ground outside and inch himself further, but the further he goes, the more his gut is wedged in the frame. All that’s visible to you now is his backside and his muddy boots scraping against the wood floor. 

The struggle stops and you hear a muffled sigh from outside the church walls.

“Shit.”

Charles looks over to you and sends you a tiny smirk which you return. As funny as this situation looks, you do feel embarrassed for Arthur. It’s a good thing it’s only you and Charles witnessing this. 

Arthur speaks meekly, barely intelligible through the church walls, “Will you help me?”

The two of you stand up and walk to the back of the church. Your faces turn red at the sight of poor Arthur stuck like a bear in a fox hole. It’s enough to make you burst like a squeezed tomato. Tears fill your eyes as you try so hard to stifle your outburst by clapping a hand over your mouth. 

“Oh you poor thing,” you whine through your fingers with hesitated breathing. Your voice rises while struggling to breathe. You know if you let out a breath, it would lead to a burst of laughter that would not end. You calm yourself with a slow, deep breath out your mouth. 

“Just get me outta here, will ya?” Arthur urges. 

“How?” you ask. Again, struggling to maintain your breathing through stifled giggles. You look over to Charles who has his head held down and his hand over his mouth. The smile lines on his cheeks are clearly visible. 

Charles takes a deep breath, “I got an idea. (Y/N), grab him by his arm. I’ll grab the other one, and we’ll pull on my count.”

You do as Charles orders and place one hand directly above Arthur’s elbow on the meat of his forearm, the other is wrapped around his wrist. Arthur grips your wrist with his massive hand. 

“One…two…three!” 

You both pull but Arthur doesn’t budge. 

You pull again. 

And again.

But no progress. Now you’re worried you’ll just pull his arms out of his sockets. 

“Ugh! This isn’t working,” you grunt, letting go of Arthur’s arm. “We gotta push you back in.” 

“What?” Arthur looks up at you. His shaggy hair all disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed. 

“You’re too wide! You gotta go back in and go through the front.” 

He drops his head in defeat and nods. You and Charles now find a spot on Arthur’s shoulders and push with all your might. He seems to move by a centimeter. 

“Hang on.” you say, and run around the front of the church and crouch in. You kneel behind Arthur’s legs and wrap your hands around an ankle. You feel him tense immediately at your touch. He reeks of sweat and booze and his boots are covered in mud.

“Alright Charles! I’ll pull, you push! On three! Arthur, you count!”

With an exasperated sigh he counts, “One…two…three!”

You pull on his leg with all your strength, squatting on your feet inside the small church. You feel his weight give as he slowly slides through the doorway. You pull harder and harder, putting all of your weight into it. 

Suddenly, the tension is lost, and you fall backwards onto a pew. You nearly break your back on the wood as you land. The wood cracks underneath you. At the same time, you hear a thud from the outside wall. Charles must’ve fallen forward and hit his face directly on the door frame. 

A chorus of painful groans fills the inside of the church. It’s quickly followed by a duet of laughter from you and Charles.  
You let out a deep breath as you calm yourself. 

Looking to Charles-who’s halfway inside the church on his stomach-you state, “Y’know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh, Charles.”

“Never seen anything that funny till now,” he tears up. 

“Glad to help, Charles.” Arthur groans sarcastically, rubbing his face. 

“C’mon,” you chuckle and give him a light smack on the bottom. “Let’s get outta here.” 

You both exit through the front of the church. Arthur winces at the bright midday sun and attempts to stand straight. 

“Think you can get on your horse, Arthur?” you ask. He waves you off and awkwardly mounts his horse.  
Luckily, she stands perfectly still while he eventually lifts his heavy frame onto the saddle. Once he’s settled, you hand him his worn leather hat. It’s nearly brown from all the swamp mud. 

Charles shakes his head and laughs, “You two take your time. I’lll meet you back at camp.” He pulls on the rein to direct Taima until Arthur stops him.

“Charles?”

“Yeah, Arthur?”

“Don’t tell anyone this.”

Charles smiles, “Okay.” He’s always one to keep a promise. 

Mounting your own horse, you gently tell Arthur, “C’mon, Reverend. I’ll buy you a room and you can get some sleep. I’ll even get you the deluxe package: hot food and a bath.” 

“Okay,” he nods in response. The two of you slowly walk your horses to Saint Denis, where you buy him a room and a bath at the lavish hotel. Helping him up the stairs to the bathroom, you begin to undress him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he exclaims, a trace of moonshine still in his system. 

“C’mon Arthur, you need a bath.”

“I can do it ma’self! I ain’t no child!” 

After some arguing, and finally some help from one of the working girls, you get Arthur into the tub. You pay the girl for the deluxe bath and help her scrub Arthur down. To which, Arthur soaks up all the attention. 

“Well, lookee here. Two beautiful women…givin’ me a bath!” 

“Ain’t you a charmer?” the woman teases, her bosom nearly spilling out of her corset. 

Rolling your eyes at the continuous flirting between Arthur and the woman, you eventually help him out and dress him in fresh clothes. The woman offers to take his muddy clothes to the launderer for an extra fee, which you accept. 

Arthur nearly rips the top cover off the bed and plops himself down. With a loving chuckle, you pick up his legs and tuck him under the covers. 

His eyelids grow heavy at the feeling of his head on the soft feather pillow. He smells a hint of lavender on the sheet. 

“You’re too good to me, (Y/N).” he mumbles with closed eyes. 

“Only what you deserve.” you reassure him, tucking a stray hair away from his face. 

He quickly falls asleep with a gentle snore. You wait a second to move so you can take in the sight of him, all tucked in like a little boy. At that, you move to the sofa by the bed and lay down, watching Arthur sleep until your own eyelids grow heavy.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually an idea my husband gave me as a joke, but I ran with it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!


End file.
